


for you, in silence

by vityaxwolf



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Depression, Established Relationship, Gen, Introspection, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-23
Updated: 2017-12-23
Packaged: 2019-02-19 01:55:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13113486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vityaxwolf/pseuds/vityaxwolf
Summary: From a distance, a flicker of gold can be seen on his right hand. It's a secret from the universe, a glitch in time, whispered in the breeze. Promise never to tell.(I'd steal the sun and claim the sky for you.)





	for you, in silence

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warnings for depression

Yuuri closes his eyes and savours the sunlight warm on his skin.

He was wearing a light, worn-out sweater; the crisp February wind seeping through his delicate frame. A few days of erratic eating and abstention, sleeping, and wandering have brought more weight loss than a few weeks of intensive training. He allows himself a small smile. The sun is peeking at the horizon and he tries to focus. To his left he marvels slightly at the cliffs towering over the small houses scattered across the town. He feels the tug of the wind, the faraway sound of seagulls. He allows himself to drink in the feeling of the waves, calming and cold as it laps on his ankles. There is no bitterness. There exists no pain. Not for this moment, no.

The world, his world, was so fragile, so _close_ to breaking.

 

 

_He was close to breaking._

 

 

The walk back to the inn was met with no disturbance. _The things he'd give_ , he thought, _to live without fear of being swallowed by his own shadow_. Would it have been easier, for everyone, to not have lived at all? Yuuri shakes his head wryly. He can't go there. If he did, there would be no turning back.

 

* * *

 

 

 

He was met with a steaming bowl of miso soup once he entered the inn. _Breakfast_ , the old lady said, a kind smile on her face. The inn was an aged refuge by the sea. The ground floor functioned as a humble restaurant, but the elderly couple who owned the place hardly had customers. The inn had been a stop in the road for weary travelers, naive tourists, and adventurous spirits. Yuuri belonged to neither of them. A stop in the road for some, a destination for others. Maybe.

He arrived on a quiet night, but he had brought his storm with him. The couple did not ask questions then, surprised by this stranger's sudden appearance a few minutes close to locking up, they took his ragged and heaving form and brought him to the room with the most beautiful view of the sea. He fell asleep not long after with waves roaring in his ears, drowning (in) his tears.

That had been almost three days ago. He silently tried to follow the musical keys of The Watchtower, as the middle-aged man by the decrepit piano repeats the piece after every note missed. Like a broken record seeking reprieve, desperate for absolution.

 

 

Yuuri closes his eyes and tries to remember the warmth and contentedness of mornings in his,  _their_ , apartment in Saint Petersburg, of waiting in front of tall glass windows for a glimpse of the sun on dreary mornings. He tries to revive the sound of low whines coming from Makkachin who must have fallen asleep on the living room's soft carpet, the hum of the city lulling him back to bed. Yuuri takes a breath and tries to grasp at memories of gentle, but firm hands on his waist, surrounding him, keeping him _close_ , tucking him away. _Hide me,_ he would have pleaded,  _hide me away._   _Let your steady palms fall on my trembling eyelids; let it rest. Let me rest. Cover me; don't let me go. Not a breath, not a sound. Keep me in your heart. Lock me there. I am yours to keep._ He tries to remember what being held felt like, how the warm breath near his right ear made him  _want_ to calm his own breathing, how the rhythm of Viktor's heartbeat made him want to crawl closer to Viktor, if it was even possible, and wear his skin.

Yuuri closes his eyes and tries to remember how tired Viktor sounded, how he probably woke up, as he always did, because he missed Yuuri's warmth on their shared bed, and how Yuuri,  _his Yuuri_ , was drifting away from him, from their life together, taking pieces of him and giving nothing back. Yuuri tries to remember how he is not his loneliness, how he is trying and fighting, but most days there is no fight left in him. And so he drifts away, far away from the shore. He wants to fight for himself, fight for Viktor and Makkachin, his parents, Mari, Yurio, and Phichit, but most days, he is empty. He is exhausted.

Most days, he keeps his eyes wide open because his chest feels like it's falling asleep, sinking deeper, being carried away by the shadows of his loathing, his shame, his guilt, his anger, his _nothing,_ his void. He feels himself falling, _lightweight, always, always lightweight, Yuuri._

 

 

_He deserves nothing._

 

 

He is only dreaming. (Let's play pretend, if only in the blurry corners of consciousness.)

 

 

This is a mask.

 

 

_All that he knows is falling apart._

 

 

He is _failing_.

 

 

He is fighting.

 

 

He is _so_ close.

 

 

_He wants to be saved._

 

 

 _Kami-sama, give me this moment to be found._  


 

He focuses on the notes. Broken symphonies to even more broken souls. Outside, the sound of a car engine stops to interrupt the music and drives away. Unsteady footsteps. A light greeting, other-worldly, from the pale wind chime latched to the front door. A step too heavy. A pause too great, too much. Every force from the universe taunting it to draw back.

A luggage or two falling.

 

 

Arms.

 

 

Tears.

 

 

 

_His._

 

 

And yet,

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

They walk to the shore with their hands loosely hanging from their sides, aching to touch. Viktor thought, _Is this the grief of chasing eternities Orpheus had to deal with when he lost Eurydice?_   It had only been a few days, not more than a week of being away from Yuuri. It felt strange, Yuuri was here and yet he  _seemed_ as if he were somewhere else. He was staring straight at the horizon, and Viktor recognizes this battle no more than he recognized his own.  _If I could, I'd take it away. I'd steal the sun and claim the sky for you, Yuuri._  

 

That day, Viktor came home to a whining Makkachin; everything in their aparment left untouched.

 

 

There was no Yuuri.

 

 

Yuuri did not train with him then, telling Viktor that he ought to take this time to train with Yakov as Yuuri was not feeling well. _No need to fuss_ , Yuuri said, _it's just a sickness. It will go away._

 

It never did.

 

 

Nonetheless, Viktor fights for Yuuri. Always. Tracking his phone (only to find out that his lover had booked his flight to Japan and ran off to some unknown place on his own) and finding him had not been the difficult task. Viktor was distressed. He felt betrayed, this much was true. However, he _believed_ in Yuuri. He believed in Yuuri despite the quiet, despite the tender stares that turned into downcast eyes. In this lifetime, Yuuri was his, not to selfishly keep and possess. Yuuri was his to guide, to care for, and to love. And loving Yuuri meant fighting for him, even if Yuuri himself is a trickle away from giving up.

 

 

Their gold bands gleam in the morning light. The sound of the waves is his reassurance.

 

 

 

_God, I have never asked for anything my whole life._

 

 

_Just this once._  
_._

 

 

_Let me reach you._

 

 

 

_Please, I beg of you. Come back to me._

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Yuuri closes his eyes and savours the sunlight warm on his skin.

 

 

The sun is peeking from the corners of the horizon and his thin, white polo shirt flutters in the wind. The water is almost knee-deep, his navy blue shorts clinging to his thighs. He holds his right hand above his head and takes everything in.

 

From a distance, a flicker of gold can be seen on his right hand. It's a secret from the universe, a glitch in time, whispered in the breeze. Promise never to tell.

 

 

For some, this is a stop on the road. For him, this is a destination.

Yuuri opens his eyes and takes the first step back to the shore.

 

 

 

He keeps moving.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello. This is my first time writing for this fandom. I think, in my excitement to contribute, I may have rushed a bit. Nonetheless, every word twisted, turned, and weaved was made intentionally. Also, academic writing has affected my creative writing very much. I will happily accept constructive criticism. 
> 
> I own none of the characters. Sometimes I think they own me instead.


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